last night whilst the rest of the world watched the wwf match between the barack “the comeack kid” obama and mitt “the binder” romney, i found myself begrudgingly submerged in the fledging world of los angeles fashion week.
i never really understood why fashion hasn’t taken off here. we are a desert oasis with tons of space, sunshine and creative fodder to last a life time.
then i went to my first los angeles fashion week event…and there was my answer.
wet seal didn’t only throw up at this place, but had montezuma’s revenge. tweeny, teeny bloggers running around in hyper-sequined dresses mixed with too-tight (and bright) for even-the-kardashians-dresses made for a who’s who and what-the *#@& is-that of what not to wear.
no wonder we are new york fashion week’s ugly stepsister. i, an adoring angeleno and lover of all things style was even forced to dip my head in disappointment for this expression of our industry. the whole night i ached to pat the proverbial head of la fashion. “nice try darling, but if you really want to up your game, you need to stop endorsing the past-prime girls of toddlers and tiaras.”
the truth is fashion won’t start to take l.a. seriously, until los angeles actually takes fashion seriously. with hollywood around the corner, stylists on the boom, and luxury companies such as rodarte and halston popping up, the bend toward designer fashion is beginning to take shape, but then l.a. fashion week comes along, trouncing about with barely-there dresses, gaudy lipstick and silver-lame leggings and botches everything up.
what our industry needs is a bitch-slap from miranda priestly. the it’s not-blue-it’s-cerulean (duh) kind. one that will force us to glamorously gussie up our currently unpedicured toes and strut the runway like we mean it.
i know we have it in us…we just need a little help.
mister mayor…you’re welcome, and by the way, i’m available.